Between the Lines
by lis.liss.lisss
Summary: Patricia and Eddie: hidden pasts, twisted words, and lonely futures. They push away from anyone who wouldn't understand them, but somehow this only brings them closer together. It is up to those who can read between the lives to save them. Can you? (Possible Peddie)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

**Woo! New story!**

If anyone found out she came here, she would kill him. After all, what would Patricia be doing at an open mic café? _Singing? _With a _guitar?_ With musical notes and lyrics and just a bit of… passion?

Despite what everyone would guess, the bottle-dyed redhead walking through the door was indeed Patricia Williamson: tough cookie, aggressive, and rude. If someone really got to know her well, he would know that Patricia is really just strong, willing to protect her friends, angry, and just a bit insecure. Well, more than just a bit insecure. But no one knows her that well enough, maybe not even her best friend, Joy.

Technically, Patricia is supposed to be at therapy, but that just ended. Officially, she works at a restaurant for extra money. No one really knows how desperate the Williamson family is for money; after scrapping the last pound together to send Piper to music school, they need all the help they can get. On top of Patricia's needs, they are down to last bits of their savings, especially after her father left the family to fend for itself. Patricia should actually be a Roberts, for her mother's maiden name, but she did not change her last name because she did not want to be conspicuous, raise questions, or have to explain herself (and she kind of missed him). Piper kept her name because it was the name she grew up with, her identity, no matter who raised or would be raising her. Their mother seems to believe that her husband would come back.

Everyone assumes "working at a restaurant" means being a server, but who can honestly imagine Patricia being polite? No one questions it, which is all the better for her. She would never hear the end of it if the school found out she sang for a living.

Cold air rushes into her face as she opens the door to the café. As part of her scholarship, the school lets her move in early, so she doesn't have to worry about bumping into anyone she knows. Besides, they only really come on Fridays, open mic night. On Tuesdays, the stage is hers and hers alone. She makes minimum wage and gets to keep the tips. It isn't much, but it isn't nothing.

* * *

It's the middle of August and he's stuck in… England. With nobody. He's new and has no friends. Apparently, after nine years, his dad wants to meet him, so of course his mother begged him to go. "England will be good for you," she said. "Your father is dying to meet you. Who wouldn't be?"

Eddie Miller knew all of this was code for _I miss him _and _I'm dying to see him again._ Eddie didn't care about Eric Sweet, but his mother still did. Even after she remarried. He hated to leave her- he knew how angry her new husband could get when he was in a mood or a little tipsy- but he could see the way she begged him to take this escape. To find help. To bring Eric back.

So he ran.

And now he's stuck in England a month before school starts. He wonders where his friends think he has gone, how his step-father reacted to his leaving, and how he could start over at this new school. He no longer had to be cool or a bad boy or try to get girls or whatever. He only did that so he could cruise through school without gaining any extra attention, but now he didn't have to try to fulfill a stereotype to slip under the radar. He could remake his image. That sounds nice.

At least there is a cool café near the school he could walk to. It probably gets really crowded during the school year, but for now it's not too bad. They hire a girl to sing and play guitar. The atmosphere is cozy. The girl is pretty.

She's in the middle of a song when he walks in, and at the end, he finally shakes up the nerve to walk up to her.

"Do you take song requests?"

She cocks her head. "Sure, okay. As long as I know the song." He handed her a folded up piece of paper.

"You might not know it," he said. Patricia's heart skipped a beat when she deciphered the scrawl. _Odd One by Sick Puppies._ It's a song that she had completely memorized. It was a song about her, the only one she could completely relate to. Taking this mystery boy completely by surprise, she simply smiled and started singing.

* * *

It took Eddie a week to muster up the courage to give Patricia his phone number. He couldn't figure out what it was about her that made him so shaky- maybe it was the big green eyes, the way she looks so desperate about something, that little spark of understanding when they lock gazes. He remembered the way she jumped at his first song request- she was an odd one, just like him. In the end, he had written his phone number on a scrap of paper and slipped it in her tip jar.

With about a week before school started, Eddie started moving into his house after living with his dad.

"You must be Eddie Miller! I'm Trudy, your house mother. Come in, come in!" A kind lady ushered him through the door cheerfully. "The other house members went out for a swim, but they should be back soon. Why don't you get settled in? You'll be rooming with Fabian."

He shoved his stuff in the dresser and flopped on his bed. His phone buzzed with a text message: _My friends made me go out with them and now I'm bored. _Eddie smiled. He and Patricia have been talking for a little while now, and he realized that she was snarkier- borderline grumpy, even- than she appeared on stage. Patricia was a practical, no-nonsense, intimidating girl, and he loved her _sparkling_ personality.

_At least you have friends, _he replied. _No one is in the house and I'm lonely. ;)_

_My friends are stupid. They don't get me. _Eddie frowned at her response.

_I get you :P_

_Shut up. _Eddie grinned again. Patricia also didn't do mushy-gushy stuff. She was mean and sassy and rude, but he liked her anyway (plus she was his only friend in the entire country…). She was tough but not cold. She had secrets, just like him.

There was a commotion at the front door. "Eddie! Come, dear," Trudy called. "Your housemates have arrived!"

"Who have you been texting all day?" a blonde giggled as she walked through the door. She was facing away from him, talking to someone behind her, but he could already tell that America wasn't the only country with its share of ditzy blondes.

"Leave her alone, Amber," someone else said. Average height, brown hair, and very shy, judging from the way his eyes were glued on a girl with long, messy hair.

"Looks like Trixie's got a new friend," Jerome snickered. The only reason Eddie knew of Jerome was because of all the times his dad had talked about him. He practically had a dartboard with his face on it.

"And who are you?" the girl with the long, messy hair asked. Eddie almost laughed out loud at how that guy with the brown hair glowered… until he realized that everyone was looking at him.

"Um, hi… I'm Eddie." Suddenly everyone stared at him, eyes wide.

"Wait, say that again," Amber said.

"I'm Eddie?" he was completely confused. Here was the entire house, clad in colorful beach clothes, hair dripping, some towels dropped on the floor in… shock?

"Say something else!" she demanded impatiently.

"_Another_ American?" a voice grumbled from the back of the crowd.

"Ignore them; they're always shocked around foreigners. I'm Nina," Nina said kindly. "The ditzy blonde is Amber," she joked.

"That's Alfie," Amber added, pointing to a guy with… aliens? On his bathing suit. "Stay away from him; he's odd."

"And your boyfriend," Alfie interjected cheerfully. "That strapping young gentleman staring at Nina is Fabian, and he would be Nina's boyfriend if he would suck up the courage to ask her to step out with him." _What does "stepping out" mean?_

"W- y- I- Alfie! T-"

"Fabina!" Amber squealed. It seemed as though introductions were going to be in this sort of backwards, slightly amusing fashion until the grumpy voice from the back of the crowd came back.

"Okay, enough of this! I'm wet and need a shower. Hi, don't talk to me or call me Trixie. Have a good day." Was it a coincidence that her voice sounded so familiar? If only he could see her face… She shoved her way through the crowd to climb the stairs.

"Sorry about… her," Nina said to him. "She's kind of…" She reached the middle of the stairs and Eddie gasped.

"Patricia?"

"What do you wan-" she broke off her sentence when she finally looked at him, dropping everything she had in her arms, her stuff bouncing down the stairs. The ridiculous crowd of people clustered in the foyer started whispering. She composed herself in the blink of an eye. "How do you know my name? Creep."

* * *

Patricia was finding breathing difficult.

No one in the entire school knew about her job as a singer. No one could find out. She would be done for. All she wanted was to live her life without attention thrust upon her- no expectations, no pressures, no comparisons. She got enough of that at home with Piper and her parents. There was a reason she kept to herself: she didn't want anyone to find out about all of the problems she had. But suddenly, this one person showed up at her school- in her house!- and threatened to unravel all of the secrets she tediously kept to herself. It would have been fine if she could have known him as a friend outside of school; she rather liked him, but he was too close now.

She dug through her toiletries bag and popped a pill- if the school went into an excited frenzy about Patricia making a friend, then the entire planet would implode if anyone found out she took this. But she needed it. Life was too difficult without it. She had just two more years in this blasted school until she would be off the university and away from the nonsense of her family. Then this daft boy had to show up. Wonderful.

Patricia climbed out of the awful one-piece bathing suit she had forced her body into this morning. She hated the way it highlighted her imperfections more than it covered them up, but she had to hide the ridges across her lower back. There was no way she would ever tell anyone- not her parents, not her sister, not her doctor, not her therapist, not even Joy- about them. They were her greatest shame. She swore to herself that she would never damage herself ever again.

It's a promise she can't keep.

* * *

Eddie woke up the next day feeling feverish and groggy. Groaning, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, sighing as the cool water hit his skin. He finished washing himself, leaning back to turn off the water but slipping and knocking his arm against the knob. He pulled on a t-shirt and sweatpants and went down for breakfast.

As he reached for the orange juice, Mara suddenly exclaimed, "Oh my god, Eddie! What happened?"

After a moment of panic- did they see the scars his stepfather left across his body?- he realized she was looking at the dark bruise that covered his arm. Frowning, he said, "I actually have no idea how that got there."

"It looks like you hit it against something really hard," Fabian offered. Eddie had plenty of bruises that he could never explain to his friends, but they were never _inexplicable;_ he just didn't want anyone to know about them. This, however, was truly baffling.

"I think I knocked it against the shower knob this morning," he said, remembering. "But it couldn't have been that hard. Whatever, guys, it's fine. Don't worry about it."

Just then, Trudy walked in carrying a jug of yellow liquid. "I made you sweeties some lemon juice!" she sang.

"Lemon juice?" Eddie wrinkled his nose. "Who drinks lemon juice?"

"Everyone, you doofus," Jerome says. It's something Patricia would say, but for some reason she has stopped talking to him. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he could see her laughing at him.

"But why?" Eddie questioned. "It's all sour and gross!"

"Not when you put sugar and water in it…?" Alfie looked at him confusedly. In fact, everyone was looking at him confusedly until Nina came to the rescue.

"They mean lemonade," she stage whispered dramatically.

"Finally! Someone who speaks my language!" Eddie caught Patricia rolling her eyes.

"Americans," she muttered. Picking up her plate, "I'm going up," she announced.

"You barely ate!" Eddie protested.

"Don't question me."

"Yeah dude," Alfie said. "Just… don't ever question Patricia." Eddie rolled his eyes. He quickly put his plate in the sink and hurried after her.

* * *

Eddie pounded at the door. "Come on, Patricia, open the door!" Hearing no response, he barged right in and saw her sprawled across her bed, staring at the ceiling, and listening to music through headphones very loudly. It was a wonder that she didn't go deaf already. He took the time now to finally get a closer look at her. He had a suspicion that she dyes her hair red every so often and straightens it as well, and every time he saw her she wore dark jeans and a t-shirt. Nothing difficult, nothing fancy, nothing high-maintenance. If she noticed him moving over to sit on her bed, she did nothing to indicate it. He pulled out a headphone and asked, "Would you tell me why you are ignoring me?"

She glanced at the door before replying, "None of them know that I work as a singer. They think I'm some kind of waitress or something."

"Okay," Eddie blinked. "So?"

"No one can know that I do something as soft and gushy as singing to earn money," she scoffed. "If you haven't been paying attention, I'm Patricia, I'm tough, and if you bother me I will punch you in the face."

"Pretending to be someone you're not is exhausting."

"And you would know?" she leered.

"I would know," Eddie nodded. Did he like the girlfriends and the hook ups and the drugs and the parties and the pretending? No. He was done with succumbing to peer pressure.

"I'm not pretending to be someone I'm not," Patricia said defensively. "I've got problems and secrets I don't want anyone to know about- not that anyone would want to be bothered with them anyway." She stood up to leave. This conversation was getting too personal too quickly.

"Don't you think your friends want to help you?" he demanded. "Isn't that the point of a friend, anyway?"

Her body facing the door, she turned her head just to say, "The people who were supposed to help me either didn't understand or let me down. I've learned that I can only depend on myself. I'm alone and I like it this way." She stomped out the door.

"You'll never be alone, not when I'm with you," Eddie promised.

Patricia didn't hear him.

**Okay, this story will be much more organized than ****_Scar(red)._**** Promise.  
I already know how I want it to end, but if you want to see something in particular happen, let me know!**  
**This story will focus on Patricia and Eddie, without all of the wacky Egyptian stuff.**  
**Please review if you think I should continue!**

**xoxo**


	2. Chapter 2

Between the Lines 2

If Patricia refused to talk to him, Eddie guessed he would have to settle for watching. Watching Patricia was like reading an open book- he would know since he had written one himself. He could tell that she was hiding something. Possibly even many somethings. He desperately wanted to be baffled by the fact that she could prefer solitude over her close-knit, warm housemates, but it was probably a testament to his screwed up life that he completely understood her. People come and go, but you are stuck in your own body for life, literally. Eddie had thought that if everything ends, what's the point of starting in the first place?

Eddie sighed. It was lunchtime, and his goddamn father had insisted that he eat lunch with him at least once a week. At least it's Tuesday and maybe after he finishes his homework he can watch Patricia sing… He shook his head at his own mushiness.

"Hi, Dad," he said, stepping through the doorway into his office.

"Hello, Edison," Mr. Sweet chirped cheerfully. "How has school been?"

"Boring," Eddie stated blandly. He didn't want to have to try to have some sort of relationship with this man. His father had left before he had been able to pronounce _Dada_ properly.

"Are you alright? You seem quite… upset."

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Okay," Mr. Sweet grasped at straws. "How was America? And your mother, Anna Miller?"

"Peterson," Eddie grumbled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Anna Peterson. My mom remarried." Eddie reveled in the pain reflected in the older man's eyes. Why that was, when he didn't care about his father, he couldn't tell.

"Oh," Mr. Sweet deflated. "And how is her new husband?"

_A douchebag._

"Why exactly am I here?" Eddie snapped instead. He didn't need any people trying to meddle with his life, especially when one in particular started the problem. "Do you even know how old I am? Do you know how long you've been gone?"

Mr. Sweet blinked rapidly. "Edison I-"

"Save it. I don't need this. If I survived the worst shit of my life for the past fifteen years without you, I will certainly be fine now."

Eddie stomped out the door, leaving his father behind to worry over how he could fix the damage he had caused years before.

Outside, Eddie lit up a joint. Yes, he had promised himself that he would stop… but he just didn't have the energy he needed to last the rest of the day without it. He didn't really need it. He could stop tomorrow if he felt like it. He just didn't feel like it. Taking a deep breath, he felt his lungs burn and tried to blow a smoke ring. It had been his stepfather who taught him how to roll his own cigarettes…

"What are you doing?"  
"Jesus!" Eddie almost fell off the log. "Who're you?"

"Just me," Patricia said walking from behind a tree to sit next to him. He offered her a puff. She took the cigarette and threw it over her shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Don't be angry at me for preventing you from ruining your health!" Patricia snapped.

"Right" was all he could say. They sat in silence. Neither could be sure if the bell ending lunch had rung yet, but they could both be certain that neither cared. "I'll tell you my poison if you tell me yours," Eddie offered.

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me," Eddie spread his arms out wide, "what brings you out to this lovely stretch of woods."

"It's a log next to an oak tree," Patricia cocked an eyebrow. Eddie waved a hand.

"Use your imagination. I'll trade you, secret for secret," he dared her.

"And what would make you think that I would want to tell you anything?" Patricia challenged.

"Because we, believe it or not, are the same person." Eddie leaned forward, eyes scintillating. "So come on. No cheating."

"Fine," Patricia scoffed, picking at the bark on the log. "You go first then."

Eddie thought for a moment. "I came to England because my biological father wanted to meet me," he finally said when he decided on something that wasn't too revealing. "But I don't really want to meet him."

Patricia's green eyes suddenly met his. "Well you should," she said, "because at least that means he cares for you. Mine left." She tossed a pebble and watched it disappear in the woodchips. "Last summer, he left a daft note and never came back. Now my entire family, whatever is left of it, is in shambles."

"My dad left when I was two. He had to introduce himself to me when I met him this year," Eddie spat. Then he sighed. "My mom remarried some asshole named Adam. What about yours?"

"No," Patricia sighed as well. "We even kept his surname. We're all stupid; he's never coming back."

"We _all_?" Eddie questioned.

"I have a sister," Patricia mumbled absentmindedly.

"Oh. Only child."

"You're lucky, then," Patricia said. "No beautiful, talented, polite sibling to upstage you."

"I don't think that's true," Eddie said. Patricia turned away. _Right. We don't talk about that,_ Eddie grumbled to himself. This conversation was exhausting, composed of half-truths and concealed thoughts.

"I'm going to give it to you straight, Patricia." She looked up, startled by the tone of his voice. "I'll tell you why I smoke if you tell me about those pills jangling around in your pocket."

She stood up. "They're keys."

"As if you owned a car!"

"To my house! To my secret diary! To my lockbox! To anywhere that is none of your business." She started to walk away, but this time Eddie wouldn't let her leave without a fight.

"Marijuana. Since I was fourteen. Because my stepfather showed me, my friends pressured me, and soon it was the only thing I could use to help me get through the next day."

"_Why_ are you so obsessed with me?" Patricia demanded. Now they were both standing up, yelling at each other, weapons drawn. "Why do you keep trying to meddle with my life? You barely know me!"

"So let me get to know you," Eddie begged.

"Why?"

"Because I know what you're going through and I want to help you."

"You barely know me," she repeated, shaking her hair in the wind.

"You are an open book, a screaming radio, a huge painting begging to be seen," he shouted back. "You're frustrated that your friends can't help you and hurt that your father left. You keep things hidden because you're afraid that no one would understand when in reality no one understands because you won't explain!" he fingered her red hair. "You feel the need to change yourself to fit in instead of changing your surroundings to fit you." Eddie waved his hands. "This is only as good as you make it!"

"You are just as bad," Patricia accused him. "You come here for your dad but refuse to make things work. You want to find yourself but keep reverting to old habits. You insist on helping me yet you can barely heal yourself. In fact, you think these stupid cigarettes are helpful but instead they hurt you even more, and then you can never stop. You depend on them for your life and-" suddenly, Patricia clutched at her chest and fell to her knees.

"Patricia? Oh my god," Eddie rushed over to her. She was hyperventilating, wheezing, and shaking. "What do I do?" He pulled out his phone to dial nine-one-one but only received a dial tone. "Damn it, how do I call an ambulance?"

Patricia shook her head vigorously and rifled through her pockets. Giving up, she gripped at Eddie's shoulders. She was terrified. Never had she had a panic attack this bad; her throat was constricting, her vision was sparking, and she couldn't tell if Eddie was swaying or not. Eddie was forced to watch as she fell through consciousness, in and out of memories.

"Stay with me," he urged her. "Breathe with me, come on." Her eyes slid back and forth, her hands gripping herself tighter against him. He tried to support her body while he went through her pockets, hopefully finding what she had been looking for. "No, no, look at me," he told her as her eyes slid out of focus. Breathe with me, slooooowly." All she could manage was a strangled hiccup. He could feel his own heart shattering out of his chest, sweat making his palms clammy, as he tried to keep himself calm enough to help her. Finally he found the little orange pill bottle. "How many?"

Patricia held up two fingers. He slipped them in to her mouth and held her as she managed to calm down and started to cry.

"Are we going to talk about what happened today?" Eddie asked as Patricia walked into her bedroom.

"Jesus, Eddie!" she startled. She had just taken a shower. Classes had ended and she was preparing to go into town for therapy and to work at the café. "No." She grabbed mascara.

"Could you at least explain to me what happened?" At her lack of response, he shoved his hands through his hair and said, "You had me worried."

Patricia blew air through her lips and pivoted to face him, mascara wand brandished like a sword. "I had a panic attack," she ground out robotically. "I'm fine." Eddie had never seen Patricia without her heavy makeup, but in contrast with her dark armor of the day, her clean face looked better without it. Fresher. Younger. She spun back around.

"You don't have to put all that gunk on, ya know."

"And what if I like to?" Eddie put his hands up in mock surrender, knowing she could see him in the reflection in the mirror.

"You look stunning either way."

Patricia rounded on him. "I don't know who you are or why you're here or what your goal is, and I don't like it."

"I'm just trying to be _nice!_" He sat up from where he had been lounging on Patricia's bed. "When was the last time you didn't freak out because someone was being kind?" He sighed. "Just tell me what happened today."

"It was just something I said that made me wig out. Not important." She sagged against the bed next to him.

"Something you said?" He thought back. What exactly had she said just then? "You freaked yourself out?"

"I guess," she shrugged.

"What exactly was it?" he insisted.

"Nothing I want to remember now. But," she said at his pleading glance, "It was definitely the most terrifying panic attack I've ever had."

"You've had more?" Eddie frowned.

"They started when my dad left, but usually I could handle them on my own. Today, though… I think I would have died if you handed been there." Edde gripped Patricia's shoulders reassuringly.

"You are very much alive, Patricia. Now keep living." Patricia leaned into his embrace.

"You too," she said, reaching into his pocket. "You should get rid of these. They rot you out from the inside." She held up a cigarette. _They hurt you more than they help you._

"They hurt me more than they help me," he repeated.

Patricia ruffled his hair before standing up to leave. "Stop hurting yourself."

**Woo hoo, an update! Thank you to those five reviewers for encouraging me to write!  
****Expect updates, usually about every two weeks.  
****If you haven't caught on yet, this story is about people who have problems but never really tell anyone. Rather, they hint at them and sometimes hope that others catch on and understand. Sometimes, they themselves might be in denial.  
****So, dear reader, as we travel this road together, I challenge you to try to figure out what is going on not only to Eddie and Patricia (I've made their histories vague on purpose), but to other people around you in real life.**

**Much love and thanks for reading,  
****Liss**


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